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just what I needed

John Taggart's _When the Saints_ is blowing me away. Stunning. Really. I am rolling. Flying. My head's on fire.
Don't need a pond.

I read a few pages and feel compelled to write. I am really really digging this shit.

This man knows how to use repeition unlike anyone I've read.

Listening to "Brilliant Corners" right now. Predictable I know, but Taggart and Monk are really juicing me up.

I traded in a free exam copy of some boring anthology and got $11. I wanna find some more Taggart.

Forget trying to get everything just right for my English 101 class.

This is why I live.



That's all I wanted to say.

Back to Taggart.


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Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
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I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…